


Make Me a Muppet

by BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction



Category: Newcastle Drag Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:26:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction/pseuds/BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction
Summary: As requested, shockingly, by Danayeal Doodles.Baron wants excitement, and excitement is PlastiQ's middle name.....
Relationships: Baron LaVey/PlastiQ, baron lavey/cara bonara
Kudos: 1





	Make Me a Muppet

To be comfortable, was comfortable. To be safe, was safe. To be content was…boring. And to have a boring life, was a life not worth living.

This was the opinion of one Baron LaVey.

“I just love it.” Cara Bonara said, standing over the stove. She stirred the pot of boiling water, adding salt as she did. “I just love this life. I love the routine. I love the repetition. I love that we wake up and go to bed at the same time every morning and night. I love that our lovemaking occurs on every second Thursday of the months containing thirty-one days.” She sighed happily and added more salt to the water. “It’s just perfect.”

From his position at the kitchen table, Baron looked over at Cara, briefly putting down his spell book. He adjusted the black hood of the cloak atop his head, pulling it further around his pale nose-less face (remember Baron is essentially Voldemort in this saga for those who may be slightly confused). “Well,” he said, “I am glad you love our life, but don’t you ever feel as though we could benefit from a bit excitement? Something to spice things up?”

Cara poured more salt into the water. She glared at Baron. “No.” She said. “Salt is enough spice.”

“I don’t think it is a spice.”

“It’s a fucking spice, Barry!” Cara snapped. She breathed heavily for two breaths, and then smiled brightly, still stirring the water. “I’m happy. And so should you be.”

Baron sighed. “Fine.” He picked the book back up. The spell book, a centuries old priceless heirloom, had been hollowed out weeks before to comfortably fit Baron’s phone, hidden from Cara. He smiled as a message from PlastiQ popped up in the notifications.

_“Coming out tonight, Baron? xxx”_ It read.

Baron peered over the book to see Cara. She was pouring salt into the water, focus completely on the pot. He replied to PlastiQ.

_“Would love to. Love spending time with my favourite. xxx”_

_“Who’s that, then? xxx”_ PlastiQ replied.

_“You, of course. So, what will you be wearing tonight? xxx”_

There was a pause of a sew seconds where the three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared again on Baron’s phone as PlastiQ typed. He waited eagerly for the message. Cara continued to add salt to the boiling water.

PlastiQ’s message appeared. Baron grinned as he read.

_“Something special, for you. Maybe a tight little number, with a jacket. xxx”_

(Wow, PlastiQ in a jacket? Ground-breaking.)

_“I can’t wait. xxx”_ Baron typed back.

_“Going to get ready.”_ PlastiQ’s message read. _“Or I’ll be late for work.”_ (Wow, PlastiQ late for work? Ground-breaking.) _“See you later. xxx”_

Baron smiled to himself, imagining PlastiQ in her potential ensemble. His stomach growled in hunger. “What are you making for dinner?”

Cara grinned, the ‘almost-fight’ quickly forgotten. “It’s Tuesday.” She chirped. “On Tuesdays we have pasta!”

“But,” Baron said, “we had pasta yesterday. And the day before that. _And_ the day before that as well.”

“Yes, and we’ll have it tomorrow, too.” Cara deliberately turned from the pot to look at Baron, eyes narrowing. She tilted her head and slowly said, “On Wednesdays we have pasta.”

Baron leaned back. “Okay, love. That’s fine…As long as it’s not burnt. I _hate_ burnt pasta.”

Cara didn’t look away, only continued to stir. “On Thursdays,” she threatened quietly, “we have pasta. Pasta. Pasta. _Pasta._ ”

Appropriately freaked out, Baron began pushing out from under the table, chair squeaking across the linoleum flooring.

The pot on the hob began boiling over. Cara added more salt but didn’t turn away from Baron. “On Fridays,” she growled, eyes turning an alarming shade of red, “we have pasta.”

A jet of flames fired from Cara’s eyes, and Baron ducked, hiding under the kitchen table. “Fuck.” He said. “I should never have made that deal with the devil to get her super powers.” He shook his fist to the ground, cursing. “Goddamn you, O.B.!”

“AAAHHHHHHHH!” Cara screamed like a banshee that had stood on a plug. “BARRY!” More flames shot from her eyes, catching on Baron’s hood, melting the nylon.

Patting the flames out, and sending silent thanks that he had no facial hair to singe, Baron made a run for it. He dodged Cara’s flames, sending defensive spells back at her as he ran. The heat engulfed him, and he spun around as he reached the front door.

“Aguamenti!” Baron shouted.

A jet, as powerful as a fire hose, shot from Baron’s wand, and collided with Cara’s face, knocking her backwards and immediately extinguishing her flames. She flew through the room and hit the back wall of the kitchen. The pot on the stove fell, dousing Cara in boiling salt water.

She screamed.

Baron smirked. The jet of water lessened, and lessened, until only a few drops fell from the wand. Baron shook it like he would his cock after a particularly horse-like piss. He looked at Cara and her slowly blistering skin.

“Alright, love?” Baron asked her.

She didn’t move.

“That’s it, Cara, love.” Baron said, pulling on his outdoor cloak. He opened the front door, but turned to look over his shoulder. “Shake it off.”

….

In Pink Room, PlastiQ was mad.

In fact, ‘mad’ didn’t even cover it. She was furious.

In fact, ‘furious’ didn’t even cover it. She was livid.

In fact, ‘livid’ didn’t even cover it. She was apoplectic.

In fact-

Okay, you get the point. PlastiQ was fucking fuming, and the important fact to know was that this fractious mood, was all down to one Gladys Duffy.

(Wow, PlastiQ angry? Ground-breaking.)

“She’s a withered ball sack and I fucking hate her.” PlastiQ told her reflection. She adjusted her height slightly, bending one knee and dropping a hip, so that she could view herself properly in the narrow mirrors on the wall of the DJ box. “Honestly, I think this is it.” PlastiQ said. “I can’t cope any longer with her. I’ve thrown her out of the house.”

Baron nodded in understanding, leaning on the stable door. “I feel the same about Cara. Sometimes she’s just difficult to deal with.”

PlastiQ glanced over. “What did Cara do?”

“Tried to murder me with her flame vision. What did Gladys do?”

“Called it ‘tea’ instead of ‘dinner’.” PlastiQ shook her head in disgust. “I hope she falls into a manhole of boiling pigeon sick and has her skin melted off.”

Baron frowned in thought. “There’s probably a spell for that.”

PlastiQ’s eyebrow cocked in interest. “Noted.” She turned, catching sight of Travisty perched on the table. “GET OFF THE FUCKING FURNITURE!” She screeched.

(Wow, PlastiQ shouting at a patron for siting on the tables? Ground-breaking.)

The club went silent, and Travisty sheepishly slid off the table.

“Thank you.” PlastiQ said sweetly. The music started up again and everyone went back to dancing. “So, Baron. How _is_ Cara?”

“Probably dead.” Baron muttered.

“What?”

“Fine.” He said loudly. “She’s _fine_. Very much not scalded and dead.”

“Well that’s good.” PlastiQ said, looking away. Dejected, she looked down at her nails, picking at nothing. “I suppose you and Cara are very happy together? Going to be together forever?”

Baron frowned. “I literally just told you that she tried to murder me with her fire eyes.”

PlastiQ huffed. “Okay, you don’t have to throw your passionate love life in my face.” She folded her arms and pouted. “Just because _I’m_ out of love, it doesn’t mean you can throw your perfect relationship in my face.”

“Tried. To. Kill. Me.” Baron explained, punctuating each word with a clap. “With. Her. Magic. Fire. Eyes.” He waved his wand hand in exasperation, and a light in the corner exploded. “Believe me, my relationship isn’t perfect. In fact,” he sighed, dropping to rest his face in his hands, “it’s really very boring.”

“It doesn’t sound like it.”

Baron shrugged. “I wish I had excitement in me.”

“You know.” PlastiQ smiled, fluffing up her blonde hair. (Wow, PlastiQ as a blonde? Ground-breaking.) “My middle name is ‘Excitement’.”

Perking up, Baron straightened to his full height. “Really?”

“No.” She admitted. “It’s Frederick.”

“Still,” Baron pushed the stable door until it opened inwardly, “that’s,” he slid inside, through the gap, “ _exciting._ ”

PlastiQ swooned, grasping at her chest. “Oh, I wish I had a pearl necklace to clutch.”

Pulling her close, Baron whispered into her ear. “I’ll give you a pearl necklace… From my dick.”

“Just let me sack off work, and we can get out of here.” PlastiQ said.

She disappeared for a few minutes, and then emerged from behind the bar with a successful smirk plastered across her face. She winked at Baron, grabbed her backpack, and led the way out of the club.

“How’d you get the rest of the night off?” Baron questioned as they walked.

PlastiQ shrugged. “Ate a cheese string and shat on the floor. No big deal.”

Baron smirked. “You filthy bitch.”

….

“I’m sorry we couldn’t go back to mine.” Baron said, leaning against PlastiQ’s kitchen countertop. “It’s just, Cara’s still there.”

“It’s fine.” PlastiQ shrugged. “I get it. I wouldn’t want you here if Gladys was still in the house.”

Baron looked around the empty room. “Well, I’m glad she’s gone.” He moved closer to PlastiQ, brushing her cheeks with his long bony fingers.

PlastiQ shuddered. “Where you going to put those phalanges, Baron?”

He hummed. “Mmm, PlastiQ.” He said, running them down her bare chest. (Wow, PlastiQ not wearing a shirt? Ground-breaking.) “These claws are giving a four finger salute to your probe hole.”

“Fuck, Baron.” PlastiQ growled. She tore off her tights with a complete disregard for the one-pound-fifty she had paid for three pairs. “Get that hand in me.”

They stumbled over to the sofa, falling onto to it, PlastiQ on top.

“Which hand do you want?” Baron asked, holding up his pale digits. “Left or right.”

“Oh, Baron, with me, both of those are going up there with plenty of breathing room. There is no left, they're both just right.” She smiled. “Make me a muppet.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“And,” PlastiQ said, “just so you know, I’m more of a Big Bird than an Elmo.”

“What?”

PlastiQ smiled. “My dysentery dispenser is a two-hander. At _least.”_

Baron grinned. “I’m a lucky man. And lucky for you, I have big hands.”

“You’re cute, but I can sit on a traffic cone and slide all the way down. It’s my best talent. It’ll be like a straw in a milk bottle. Imagine throwing a cocktail stick into a paint can. Driving a Cozy-Coupe into the Tyne Tunnel. ”

(Wow, PlastiQ gaping? Ground-breaking.)

….

Meanwhile, back in the LaVey-Bonara household, a burnt, wet, Cara began to claw her way through the house. Her wet hair clung to her charred body and stuck to her face in strands. She caught sight of a photo of her living self with Baron, and seethed in anger. It was at that moment, that Cara decided _she_ was going to be the final reason Baron had for hating burnt pasta.


End file.
